A Sadder and a Wiser Man
by Bottle of Smoke
Summary: "It was so strange to see these figures that had been asleep for years suddenly come to life before my eyes." The Four Great Lords, upon awaking from their years-long sleep. Written for the 2010 Narnia Fic Exchange.


Note: It's been a while since I posted something for the Narnia fandom. This is an old piece that I wrote for the 2010 Narnia Fic Exchange that I never got around to posting here. It was written for Miss Morland, as she wanted a piece all about the Seven Lost Lords of Narnia. It is very heavily edited from its original form on LJ, as I felt the original was too wordy.

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><p>He went like one that hath been stunned,<br>And is of sense forlorn:  
>A sadder and a wiser man,<br>He rose the morrow morn.

'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,' Part VII, st. 24-25, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

-x-

They woke not quickly, but slowly, quietly. They drew themselves up, stretched, became reintroduced to movement.

It was so strange, to see these figures that had been asleep for years to suddenly come to life before my eyes. It seemed like they had been always been part of the background, the strange men who had fallen asleep, head first, in their dinner.

They looked at themselves, examined their hands, clothes, and hair. Wrinkles had crept onto their faces. Liver spots dotted their hands and arms. These changes were forgotten, however, when they felt the long beards and tresses that now covered their faces and heads. The locks were slick with oil and sweat, ratty from years of disrepair.

They squinted in the light. The sun was now a new, foreign concept. It was like watching baby birds hatching, testing the world and their bodies. I smiled at the thought.

Once they took stock of their bodies, they turned to each other. The three who had been sleeping the longest looked around in horror as they saw themselves reflected in the other's appearance – old, sallow, unkempt. Their strange and innocent wonder changed to disgust as recognition set in. The smile that had been on my face slipped away.

They tried speaking. Dry rasping sounds came from their lips as they relearned what they had picked up so long ago. I felt embarrassed at their awkward attempts.

They abandoned trying to talk once they saw that they were not alone. Despite my attempts to be quiet and inconspicuous, they saw me, standing beside a pillar. One of the men ran up to me. He grabbed my shoulders and gripped me tight. There was a searching look in his eyes as he tried to remember me.

I felt myself squirm. I flicked my eyes around, avoiding his piercing, awkward stare. His gaze, though, captivated me in its intensity, and my eyes would always wander back to his. He was trying so hard to remember, to remember his surroundings and what had happened.

All at once anguish washed over his face. Slowly, pieces of the past came back, first from the table and its luxurious feast, to me and my father. He dropped his hands, slumped his shoulders, and walked back to his seat.

At the table the others were carrying the same, grave look. Even the one lord who had just arrived earlier sat hunched and heavy. I felt my throat clench. Ten years of their life had been wasted because of stupid decisions. They had been caught up in the politics of their court, and were now paying the price.

I walked over to the table, then stood silently before it. I didn't want to prod or push them. The new lord cleared his throat.

"Will Caspian take us back, good lady?" he asked.

"Yes, I suppose. When he returns," I said, rubbing my arm. I looked out at the sea and felt, with a strange stab of my heart, a sense of loss. Would I be waiting on an island like them?

I turned back to the table.

"What – happened?" one of them wondered, his voice thick and creaky. "Why – are we so – old?"

"And why is – Rhoop – here?" another coughed.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather all of my strength. "When you argued over what to do next, one of you picked up the knife from the Stone Table – the knife used to slay Aslan."

"Aslan – that Narnian – thing?"

I nodded.

They all furrowed their brows in disbelief. A myth of the natives was, in fact, real.

"That knife is a sacred artifact that must not be handled irreverently, which you did. Rather than strike you dead, though, Aslan pitied you and spared your life with sleep." The words rushed out, unpleasant and bitter.

"How – are we – awake?"

"The only way to break the sleep was for someone to sail to the end of the world. I suppose someone must have."

"How long have we – been asleep?"

"For almost ten years." They looked like prisoners, freed after years of false imprisonment. No joy at being free, but bitter of living half lives.

"I am here because Caspian's son rescued me from that atrocious island I went after," the new lord said. "Young Caspian defeated Miraz a few years ago and has been king ever since. He has been on a long journey to find us all."

"And this is – what he finds," one lord scoffed. My throat grew tighter and tears welled in my eyes. I turned back. I had had enough of these men.

"What a waste," one said, as I walked away.


End file.
